


Captain Blackheart

by Lizzy0305



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Eventual Smut, First Time, Het too, Multi, Romance, Sailing, Sea Battles, Slash, Swordfighting, but not detailed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:53:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzy0305/pseuds/Lizzy0305
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of his mentor, it is Harry’s duty to take over the fleet and protect the waters. However, on the night of his commission, he receives an unwanted guest and some dire news. The infamous pirate lord, Captain Voldemort, is after his head and fleet now. Loyalty, treason, love and revenge follows his journey, as Harry sails to uncharted waters to protect the realm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain Blackheart

**Author's Note:**

> _I dont even..._  
>  Where do I begin...? This will be my first ever AU and generally I don't even like them, but thanks to Two Steps From Hell this begged to be written.  
> I'm only posting this now, because I need to know if there's even a slight interest for a pirateAU. And because it's my birthday :3  
> I can't tell you much about the story, yet. It will eventually be Harry/Severus (as always, including explicit scenes with LOT OF LEATHER hah). I'm redefining the HP story (obviously), though a lot of things might be familiar besides the characters. There will be plenty of action/adventure, and a tad bit of Ron/Hermione love; I will try my best to make this story actually interesting. As for now, I have 19 chapters planned, but as we know, that means nothing in my case. The updates won't be regular but the chapters will be longer. Only the prologue is this short.  
> Please let me know if you find this even remotely interesting!  
> As always, Sexy.Lil.Emo is helping me with the story. You're wonderful, Sweetie, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you taking time and editing this, too! Not to mention your general support and great ideas!  
> Cover: http://lizzy0305.tumblr.com/post/112534230135/captain-blackheart-cover-for-my-new-harry-potter

# 

#  _Prologue – Cut and Run_

 

His steps are quiet on the old stone. He makes no sound at all. The silk fabric he wears does not flutter as he wrapped it firmly around his lean body. He walks in the shadows and lurks towards the corridors he knows would be deserted now.

He avoids the orange circles of light the torches on the cold wall are casting, though he could just walk through them, as the hood of his black cloak hides his face completely. He has been planning this for so long; the risk simply isn’t worth it. Even if he is noticed, he will still probably get away with this, after all, generally he has all rights to be here. Yet now, the Citadel could be under attack at any moment and the guards might find his presence suspicious and question him why he isn’t on the wall or at the courtyard defending the old fool and his throne.

More importantly, if he is found and questioned, he will lose his previous advantage. Time is of the essence now. He must get to the tower before the guards are alerted to the intrusion, and someone else wakes the fool.

He touches the small silver dagger that is well concealed in its holster. The leather band that holds the holster strapped firmly to his chest, cuts into his skin, but the uncomfortable sensation only strengthens his resolve. He has a mission. He has been entrusted with the most important task of his life and he must not fail his Master.

He shudders just thinking about his Master's reaction to a negative outcome of this mission. The man, if you can call him that, has the most horrible features he has ever seen. Red eyes, like the devil himself, skin grey like ash and a face most unnatural even to a learned man like he is. Though he grew up with stories of the vicious Lord, who fought to rule the Three Seas, and he had the honour to meet him personally, the pirate still manages to shock him.

However, he will never forget the proud, victorious sensation he felt when he had first stepped aboard the Horcrux. Oh the triumph that had filled him then! What glory, to be aboard such magnificent, legendary ship and moreover, in the presence of his Lordship at the young age he had been at.  Oh he was so proud of himself back then...

But now pride turns into fear. Triumph into desperation.

The pressure in his chest almost crushes his ribs. He feels sick, yet the lump in his throat won’t let him retch. His mouth is dry as the Great Desert North to Aeris, and his eyes burn like a fresh wound cleaned with salty water.

Will he be able to finish his task?

He knows precisely where the events he is about to set in motion will be leading: to war. To continuous, horrible battles of unknowable endings. He may even die tomorrow or the day after that. These people won’t bow their heads to his Lord, they don’t know what is best for them, and they don’t know just how powerful his Master is. They will rebel, and fight – with Potter on the lead.

The thought of the boy sends his stomach into a different kind of twist. He welcomes the powerful sensation of pure hatred and draws strength from it. Yes, when he’s done with the old fool, he will go after Potter next. Finally.

Loud, clinking steps stir him from his dark thoughts. He quickly hides behind a statue of a rider and his great horse and squats, sinking into the depth of the shadows. His fingers enclose the marble leg of the stallion to sooth his trembling hand.

The guards are approaching his cover with rapid steps. Though he couldn't hear what they are shouting to each other, their voices are urgent, barking orders, which means only one thing: the attack has commenced.

Has someone already woken the old man, he wonders? He is so close...  If the guards would just pass already…

Even the Gods seemed to favour him on this moonless, rainy night.

Black, armour-clad legs turn the corner and clomp through the corridor. Yellow cloaks flutter; he even manages to catch a glimpse of the Highguard’s emblem. The badger seems ferocious now as it flows after the black guards, madly flapping about in the air.

Then the guards are running past his hiding place without ever realizing there is an extra heart furiously beating in the darkness.

He lets out the stale air from his lungs he doesn’t even realize he has been holding back. Inhaling, he smells only wet stone and the distinct scent of the grease they use to coat the torches with.

He can’t smell the bitter scent of fear though he knows it should be there.

He stands slowly, watching after the guards, and then continues his journey towards the top of the North Tower, where his target lies, hopefully still sound asleep. He quickens his steps, but still keeps them as soundless, as possible.

He reaches the staircase that leads up to the chamber of the old man. No guards are around and he lets a cunning smile twist up the corner of his lips. "Such a fool..." He mutters as he starts on the climb.

Rain drums heavily on thick walls; he clearly hears it through the windowless arrow-slits that were cut in the ancient stones over every fifth stair. He is running now, taking two steps at a time. His heart is beating almost the same rapid rhythm as his feet. The flames quiver as he moves past them. The torches light the narrow staircase fully. There is no place to hide now. If he is found and his poisonous blade revealed, his life will end.

He is about to commit treason. The only felony punished by death around the Three Seas. There is no way back from here. Going along with this mission will set his destiny.

The unguarded door shows how much His Majesty, The Protector of the Realm trusts his beloved people. This only reassures him that the old man has always been indeed a fool. He reaches for the handle.

_Trust no one.  Follow no rules. Seek your own aims._ Those are the words of his kind. A message from Lord Voldemort to everyone who will listen, carved into burning ships, painted on walls with warm blood.

The Realm has a different credo: _The Realm is free; the Realm is powerful. The Realm is you._

How ridiculous, he thinks, not yet reaching out for the door handle. Give power to the people and they will turn it against you. Just like Lord Voldemort has been doing it. The foolish old man deserves what he will receive tonight.

The door opens into the room quietly. The hinges don’tsqueak, the bottom of it doesn’t scrape the floor. The Gods must approve his action; they wouldn't be this gracious otherwise.

No light helps him to see. The room is covered in pitch black and it takes his eyes some time to adjust to the sudden change.

The Gods aren't gracious. They are ruthless, in fact.

The bed is empty. The four-poster is made; the myriads of cushions lies on top untouched. Not even a single wrinkle disturbs the perfectly smooth flow of the crimson red velvet covers.

He feels relief for not needing to finish his task for only a fraction of a moment, then numbing fear takes its place, as he thinks about what his Master will do, if he hears about this. Then he notices the motion in the shadows.

"I was afraid you might not reach me in time. Come in, and close the door. We shall talk undisturbed."

Terrified, he remains quiet but does as he is instructed. This isn’t how it should be; the old man should be asleep. Like the rest of the Citadel.

The lean, tall man moves closer to him. "Though, I presume, talking is not the reason of your visit, is it?"

"I... I..."

Long, bony fingers are raised to silence his stuttering. The hand is old and wrinkly and is covered with dark moles, but he knows they are still strong when it comes to holding a sword. Though, the old man isn’t armed this time. "I know exactly, why you are here. I have known this night might come since you did." The fingers start stroking the white beard, which is long enough to sweep the ground.

He keeps his eyes away from the man, looking sideways and to the floor, afraid that those eyes will once more reach the bottom of his heart and read his soul like an old parchment.

"You came to kill me. At least, have the decency and look me in the eyes," says the old man with a sigh. He sounds tired.

He wants to deny, but words don’t manage to climb out ofhis throat. What can he do now? Run? Attack? He searches the room for any other exit, but there is only the door and a window behind the Protector. A window that leads to death only: a sheer drop of hundred feet into the sea.  Or if one is lucky, then on one of the underwater cliffs, sparing the man from drowning.

"I am unarmed. Why are you not acting? Was killing me not your order?" His Majesty speaks calmly, with a soft smile, he has always hated. He has a twinkling in his blue eyes that makes him feel like the old fool knows more than he does. Which is another infuriating notion.

"Yes, it is." He answers finally, gaining strength from his anger. He pulls out the dagger and grips it with firm hands, but does not move towards the Protector, yet. He is waiting, for what, he isn’t sure. Maybe an opening, maybe reinforcements. Maybe just a way out.  

The old man stands still. "And yet, you do not move. Can it be, you do not _want_ to move?" He inquires.

"No!" He cries petulantly. "I just wasn't... I wasn't..."

"Expecting to find me awake, were you? Undoubtedly, it would have been nicer of me to stay in bed, and pretend to be asleep, but to be honest, I never liked lazing around when I had many things to attend to." He carelessly waves towards him and adds, "Talking to you, for example. Stopping you from becoming a murderer and a thief is also among the list. Then a cup of tea, perhaps."

"You won't stop me!" He shouts back, feeling ridiculed. He has a mission, he repeats to himself. He must stay strong.

"I hope I will. I can be very headstrong. Especially, when it comes to my life," the old man smiles knowingly.

"Why are you doing this?" He cries desperately, stepping forward, blade still in hand, ready to slash. The outcome of the situation becomes more and more clear to him. If he runs away, Voldemort will murder him and the Protector too, though the old man will have a few more days. But newer assassins would be sent, there is no questioning that. He has to look into those eyes and kill the man himself, otherwise, he will be punished severely.

"Oh, because I like living. We have a world full of wonders around us and we know so little about it. I must confess, curiosity is one of my weaknesses."

"Shut up! Shut up already!"

The light, almost cheerful tone makes him angrier. He is the one holding a knife, why isn’t the other shaking with fear then? Does he know something? Is there someone else in the room with them? He looks around again, searching the shadows for a face, or a flash of a blade, but finds nothing. They are alone.

"And make it easier for you to kill me? I'm afraid I cannot do that. But now that we converse, you might want to help me figure out just one little detail. Why does Voldemort want the ring? He's so keen to go to war; surely he is prepared to fight. He does not need the token of the Realm to establish his... demand." Bony fingers stroke the long white beard again, watching him attentively.

“He thinks... He thinks that if he has the ring, the Gods will help him with his claim on the land,” he confesses. Surely no harm will be in this. The old man already knows he is to steal the Ring, after all. The reason isn’t all that meaningful.

“Oh. That is all? He's simply superstitious? How disappointing...” The Protector of the Realm heaves a great sigh, but is smiling with a soft touch to his eyes. He is pitying the Master.

“Do _not_ insult him!” He barks feeling a burning sensation at his throat and on his left forearm, where his Master’s brand has been burnt into his skin. His fingers tighten on the dagger and he raised his arm high. He slashes towards the old man, who catches the blade with the swiftness of a young guard. Despite his old age, the Protector has always been a great fighter.

He can feel tears of frustration well up in his eyes.

“You do not have to do this. Let go of the dagger and I will make sure to protect you from him,” Dumbledore whispers.

“There's no protection from him...” He moans, but his fingers loosen slightly.

“Let it go, son,” says the old man softly. “You know the credo of our Realm. You are free and powerful. You can do anything with your life. You choose your destiny. Do not follow the shallow promises of evil just because it seems the safest water. Sail into a storm if necessary, but fight for what you know is right.”

He shakes his head, desperate. He wants to let go, but the mark on his left seems to burn even more. A quiet sob escapes his throat.

“If anyone, I can help you. Choose the storm, son.”

“You can’t,” he whispers, tears dirtying his pale skin, as he feels the warm blood trickle onto his fingers. "Not anymore."


End file.
